


Crossing Paths

by adelaide_rain



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: Alistair looks down at Zevran’s hand on his arm, and thinks about how warm his skin is, how strong his hands are, how easily they’ve slipped into their old camaraderie despite the years that have passed. Then he looks up to meet Zevran’s eyes, and thinks how handsome he is; how younger Alistair was a damned fool to brush off Zevran’s advances, but he doesn’t need to continue the mistakes of youth.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s raining.

It’s Ferelden; of _course_ it’s raining.

Still, ten straight days of it is a little much even for someone born and bred in these lands, and as Alistair crests a hill and sees a village in the distance, he offers up a prayer to the Maker. He’s not entirely sure what village it is, and he’s not about to get his map out in a downpour like this. The important thing is that – Maker willing – it will have an inn, and for all he’s being careful with his coin, this, he thinks is worth it. 

As he steps into the village, there’s no one around to ask for directions, but just the sight of the houses and cobblestones and the light of the lampposts reflected on slick streets is comforting after days in the Hinterlands. 

The village isn't large, and a few minutes of wandering brings him to the inn. It’s small but cosy-looking, with a thatched roof and walls made of local stone. Alistair pushes the door open and finds a few people within but not many; the rain will have kept most at home. 

Heading to the bar he smiles at the tired-looking barkeep polishing a glass.

“Good evening,” he says, taking his hood down, and the man looks at him for a long moment, taking in the Grey Warden armour beneath his cloak before nodding.

“Evening, Warden. What can I get you?”

“A room, I hope.”

“Sorry, ser. I just let the last one.”

Alistair’s smile freezes and he wonders if a crying fit or a temper tantrum would be more a more fitting response. He takes a breath and is about to beg space in the stables when someone joins Alistair at the bar. When Alistair turns to look, he startles and finds himself staring at an old friend. 

Zevran Arainai looks much as he ever did, wearing the five years since Alistair last saw him as well as he wears anything else. A few wrinkles, a few strands of silver in his golden hair, but other than that he looks much as he did. Handsome, roguish, and the few additional scars only add to his appeal. 

Appeal that Alistair, in his youth, didn’t fully appreciate, but now...

“Luckily for you,” Zevran starts, and Alistair swallows. Maker, he’d forgotten about the accent. “That last room belongs to an old and dear friend of yours who would be terribly sad if you caught your death before we caught up. Would you like to come upstairs? I have towels. And - other things.” He winks; of course he does.

“I’ll take the towels, gratefully,” Alistair says, and follows Zevran.

The room is on the first floor and is small but adequate: a double bed, a small wardrobe, a dresser. There’s a spare hook on the back of the door for Alistair’s cloak. Zevran hands him a somewhat threadbare towel which he uses to dry off his hair.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Alistair says as he puts his pack on the dresser. 

“I do fancy it,” Zevran says, sitting on the bed and leaning back on his hands, making no pretence of doing anything but watch Alistair as he takes off his armour. “The years have been kind to you, Alistair.”

“I was thinking the same of you.” Alistair looks around for somewhere to put his armour; since there isn’t anywhere, he puts his breastplate and gloves on the dresser, followed by his mail. Perching on the dresser to unbuckle his boots, he looks at Zevran. “You know, I’ve heard a lot of rumours over the years. About some terrible misfortunes the Antivan Crows have suffered.”

“Yes, I too have heard such tales. So sad.”

“I also heard that it was one of their own who turned on them,” he adds, pulling the boots off and stripping off dripping wet socks with a sigh. Every inch of him is dripping wet, right down to his underwear, right down to his skin. 

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Alistair pulls dry clothes out of his pack and thanks Andraste that he decided to pay a hefty amount of coin to enchant it against leaks. He starts to take off his tunic, then looks over his shoulder. Zevran is, of course, still looking at him shamelessly. Alistair raises an eyebrow; Zevran’s smile widens. Alistair sighs and strips off the tunic, letting it drop to the floor where it falls with a wet slap. He dries himself off a little with his rapidly dampening towel. “The stories also said that for one man, he was doing a startling amount of damage-”

“Wait wait wait, what is this?” Zevran interrupts, leaping up from the bed and clutching Alistair’s left bicep, turning him around and then running a hand over the tattoo there. It’s designed after the Ferelden heraldry, two mabari rampant, which he got a few years ago in a fit of patriotism. “After how long it took me to persuade you to let me tattoo you, you go and cheat on me?”

Alistair looks down at Zevran’s hand on his arm, and thinks about how warm his skin is, how strong his hands are, how easily they’ve slipped into their old camaraderie. Then he looks up to meet Zevran’s eyes, and thinks how handsome he is; how younger Alistair was a damned fool to brush off Zevran’s advances, but he doesn’t need to continue the mistakes of youth. 

“Oh, yes. I’m so sorry, Zev,” he says, with his best flirtatious smile. “If it means anything, he wasn’t _nearly_ as good as you.”

Zevran’s eyebrows raise and he gives a startled chuckle. “So few are.” He lifts a hand to Alistair’s other arm and brushes his thumb over the griffin tattoo Zevran inked into his skin so many years ago. “You’ve taken good care of it.”

“Of course. It means a lot to me.”

Zevran looks at him for a long moment then, before running his hands down Alistair’s arms, taking his hands for just a moment before returning to lounge on the bed and enjoy the show. 

He gestures for Alistair to get on with it. “Come, come. Off with the leggings. It will be just like old times, yes?” 

Alistair laughs, and finds that he feels lighter than he has in months. It’s been a while since he’s had a companion to talk to, and longer still since he spent time with a friend. “I don’t _quite_ remember ‘old times’ including me stripping for your amusement.”

“Then you remember it differently than I do. I have especially fond memories of the baths in Denerim.”

Thinking back, Alistair mostly remembers staring fixedly at his hands so as not to see anyone else’s naked body. Such a waste. 

“Ah, yes,” Zevran continues. “Judiciously placed steam and bubbles so as not to _quite_ see everything, but more than enough to be teased by their beauty. Well – except for Oghren, that is,” he says with an exaggerated shudder. “But you? Yes, I was very – I would not say amused. Rather… _Enraptured.”_

“So you’re saying you want to be enraptured again?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“You have to at least buy me dinner for that, Zevran.”

Zevran laughs, and his face lights up, and Alistair smiles to see it. “And if I say yes?”

“Say yes and find out.”

“You are a tease, Alistair! Very well: yes.”

He clearly doesn’t think Alistair will do it; back then he certainly wouldn’t have. But now, with the promise of a hot dinner and the thrill of winning a bet, he certainly _will_. And if there’s a thrill of another kind involved, perhaps that’s something they might explore later.

So Alistair grins and he turns his back to Zevran, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, making sure to get his underwear too. Pushing them down to midthigh, he looks over his shoulder at Zevran and winks, making him laugh in delight and clap his hands. Alistair laughs too, at the joyful ridiculousness of it all, and pulls the leggings all the way off. As he towels himself off, he asks,

“Enraptured yet?”

“Very much so! You’ve come a long way since that sweet blushing Chantry boy I once knew.”

Alistair snorts, and shakes his head. “I wasn’t _that_ bad, Zevran.”

“No? You are certainly not bad now.” 

Glancing over his shoulder Alistair sees Zevran staring with a wide and crooked grin at his naked arse, sweeping up and down to take in his back and shoulders too. He bites his lip and Alistair has to look away, cock twitching at being so thoroughly appreciated. 

He towels himself down and pulls on dry clothes; a blue tunic and grey leggings. They’re soft and well worn, not something he’d wear to anything formal but good enough for a country inn. Good enough too for Zevran Arainai, who looks every bit as appreciative to see him dressed as he did naked. 

“A shame to cover up such beauty,” Zevran says, standing and coming over to him. “But at least you no longer look quite so damp and miserable.”

“I’ll be even less miserable after that dinner you promised.”

“Then let us go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally inspired by [this gorgeous (and nsfw) picture of Zevran and Alistair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022945). It made me think about the two of them meeting up years later, and how that might go. 
> 
> There'll be... three parts to this, I think? Hopefully updated weekly - I'm snowed under with work at the minute but fingers crossed. 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/adelaide_rain) and [tumblr](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com) if you fancy yelling about Dragon Age, enamel pins and pictures of cats.


	2. Chapter 2

They go downstairs, and Alistair tries to show some restraint when a flagon of ale and a bowl of stew is set before him. He rather thinks he might be eyeing the stew the way Zevran was eyeing him - it's been _far_ too long since he had a decent meal - so he gives in.

The stew is good and the ale even better. Best of all is the company, and as he tucks in with vigour, Zevran tells him about his recent exploits in Ferelden. He’s been doing some work for Brosca while she’s in Orlais with her lady love; mostly he's been tracking down people and tracking down papers. 

Alistair listens with interest. Before Brosca left to spend time with Leliana she told him that she’d found some potential leads about a way to end the Calling. The Wardens in Val Royeaux might know more, and there is also Grand Enchanter Fiona in the White Spire, the only person known to have stopped being a Grey Warden. As someone who would prefer to avoid dying young if possible, Alistair has a vested interest in Brosca’s success. 

“Hunting for papers isn’t really my speciality,” Zevran says with a shrug. “But it’s for a good cause, and it was best for me to avoid Antiva for a little while.”

"I'm certainly grateful," Alistair says, taking the last bite of his stew with a happy sigh. As he’s wiping his mouth, Zevran asks,

“And what have you been up to?”

“You know. Grey Wardening.”

Zevran snorts and nods. “Yes, yes. But Brosca tells me she put you in charge of Soldier’s Peak. Isn’t it a little - creepy there, knowing everything that happened?”

“Well, we’ve cleaned up the blood stains, fixed the windows, added a few rugs. It’s almost homely now. No ghouls, hardly any demons - quite nice, really. Bit draughty, but you can’t have everything.”

“And being in charge? How is that? I seem to recall you... weren’t a fan, shall we say.”

Alistair sits back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly. It’s true. He resisted taking the lead in the Blight, resisted being king. But Brosca didn’t give him any choice in the matter, and since she’s Warden-Commander now, he had to do what he was told. But she also put a hand on his arm and smiled at him, saying, _I know you can do this, Alistair._

She was right. 

It turns out that he’s not half bad at this leadership thing. It was a steep learning curve to be sure, but he had Denn, an experienced Warden from Orlais, to help him with that... amongst other things.

“Needs must and all that. I think I’m doing alright. Soldier’s Peak is more peaceful than the Vigil at least. Something always seems to be going wrong there.”

“Perhaps it is our dear Brosca that attracts trouble.”

Alistair laughs and takes a swig of ale, nodding. “Sounds about right.”

“One more question, before I stop being so nosy. Are you involved with anyone?”

Alistair raises an eyebrow. Zevran can be so blunt sometimes. But no; he’s six months single, since things with Pyra went wrong very quickly, and it’s a year and a half since Denn returned to Val Royeaux. Alistair is very single and, as he gazes at Zevran, he is glad.

“No. I’m distinctly uninvolved. Available.“

“Oh?” Zevran leans forward, his smile sharkish. “How available, exactly? I’d like to be sure I’m not overstepping my bonds.”

Alistair takes a sip of his ale and says, “For you? Well - let’s just say that now I have experience in such matters, I’m very curious as to how much of your boasting about your talents in the bedroom is true.”

Zevran laughs and nods. “Excellent! Then finish your drink and perhaps I will give you a hands-on demonstration,” he says with a wink.

Alistair smiles back, but he takes his time finishing his ale. It’s on purpose, to tease Zevran and draw it out, but Zevran’s far too good at this to show frustration, if he feels it.

Instead he talks, and Alistair doesn’t mind at all. It means he gets to listen to his accent, to feel the warmth it kindles in his belly. It’s like teasing himself, too, letting the heat build slowly until he can’t stand it anymore. He empties his flagon and looks Zevran in the eye.

“How about we head upstairs?”

There’s a long pause as Zevran looks at him, consideringly; not considering whether he wants to, Alistair doesn’t think, but perhaps considering how serious Alistair is. The answer to which is _very,_ and getting more so the longer those golden eyes gaze at him.

“How about we do.”

He thanks the barkeep and asks him to put dinner on his tab before leading the way back upstairs. Once they’re in the room Zevran turns to look up at him, still considering. 

“Tell me if you are serious about this.”

“I am.”

“Tell me if you are only doing this as payment for a bed.”

“What? No, of course not. Maker, Zevran. I’m doing this because- Look. When we first met, I was a blushing idiot who didn’t have the first idea of what he wanted. Now, I’m - well, I might still be an idiot. But I know I want you.”

Zevran smiles then, and puts his hands to Alistair’s chest, pushing until his back hits the door. Alistair goes where he’s put, and draws in a breath and Zevran’s hands move, first to squeeze his nipples through his shirt, then up to his neck, resting either side of it.

“Tell me what you want, Alistair.”

He takes a moment to consider which of the many, many things he could have that he wants the most, then, “Preferably I’d like you to suck me, then fuck me, but I’m open to suggestion.” Alistair smiles to see Zevran’s eyes widen, his ears lift. 

“I like the way you think, my friend,” Zevran says, and then with a silky laugh he pulls Alistair down for a kiss.

The first kiss is soft, uncertain, like Zevran is still not sure Alistair wants this. And so Alistair takes the lead, deepening the kiss, opening his mouth for Zevran, who takes the hint and presses his tongue between his lips. Alistair moans with Zevran’s tongue in his mouth, and slides his hands from Zevran’s waist to his arse. Maker’s breath, he has a nice arse, round and pert and firm; it’s enough to make Alistair hope dearly that he gets to fuck Zevran in turn. Zevran returns the favour, squeezing his arse cheeks as he bites Alistair's lower lip, just hard enough to hurt in a good way. Alistair moans, a little louder than he intended. 

"Wanton, hmm?" Zevran asks with a chuckle, glancing up at him with a smile. "I like it."

Half-hard already, Alistair is too distracted to think of anything good to say in response so he kisses him again. It's a little awkward since Zevran is nearly a foot shorter than he is, but Alistair can't say he really minds, especially since now that he's confident that Alistair does indeed want this, Zevran has thrown any caution to the wind. His kisses are hungry and heated, and he's as talented as he always boasted. Just the right amount of tongue and teeth, and his hands slipping under Alistair's shirt to explore his back, then to drag nails lightly down it. 

That inspires Alistair to do the same, untucking Zevran's shirt and shivering when he finds hard muscle beneath that shifts beneath his fingers as he moves. 

Oh Maker, Alistair wants him. Thoughts of what they could do together tumble through his mind, far too much for one night. But since they only _have_ one night, Alistair wants to get on with it. 

Breaking off with a groan, Alistair pushes Zevran towards the bed, and Zevran laughs as he drops to sit on the mattress.

“Impatient, are we?”

“I was getting a crick in my neck, having to bend over so much,” Alistair says as he sits beside him.

“Rude!” Zevran says, but he’s laughing. He pulls Alistair in to kiss him again, but before their lips touch, he pauses. “Is this better for you, my dear? Or perhaps-“

Alistair isn’t quite sure what happens next, but he’s suddenly on his back with Zevran on all fours above him. 

“Is _this_ better?”

“Maker, _yes,”_ Alistair says, wrapping his arms around Zevran’s waist and pulling him on top of him, revelling in the weight of him and even more at the feel of Zevran’s hard cock pressing against his own. He sees Zevran’s pleased smile and then they’re kissing again, Zevran giving a noise almost like a purr as he grinds his hips against Alistair’s, their cocks sliding against each other - trapped in their trews though they are.

Quickly deciding to rectify that problem, Alistair reaches down to tug the tie of Zevran’s trews loose, only to have him laugh.

“You _are_ impatient,” he says, with a smirk like he’s won some kind of victory. Alistair pauses, raises an eyebrow and moves the hand away. Zevran tuts. “Come now, don’t be like that-“

The words cut out as Alistair lifts the hand to Zevran’s ear, carefully and sliding up the curve of it, very gently taking the tip between two of his fingers and squeezing. 

Zevran cries out in Antivan and his hips buck against Alistair’s. He doesn’t stop, though; he continues stroking the ear, smiling as Zevran's eyes flutter shut and he moans breathlessly in Antivan until Alistair drops his hand. Zevran looks down at him with glazed eyes, breathing hard.

“You’ve done that before,” he accuses.

“My first lover was an elf,” Alistair says with a shrug, and if Brosca didn’t gossip with Zevran about Denn then he would be _very_ surprised. “Back when I first commanded Soldier’s Peak. He was surprised that I have sensitive ears and showed me just how _very_ sensitive elven ears are.”

Alistair knows Zevran well enough that he should’ve expected his next move: reaching up to tease Alistair’s ears in payback. He moans and grinds up against Zevran - he knows that even a human with weirdly sensitive ears is nothing compared to an elf, but it’s enough. He couldn’t come from it, as happened with Denn a time or two, but he’d certainly be up for experimenting.

Just not right now.

Right now he has other plans, and distracts Zevran with another kiss before tugging at the hem of Zevran’s shirt.

“See, you _are_ impatient.”

“Maybe. But you already got an eyeful of me before dinner.”

“True! Fair is fair,” Zevran adds, and lets Alistair pull off his shirt. As soon as he does he lets it fall to the floor, entirely distracted by Zevran’s naked torso. Compact but strong, with elegant black tattoos following the lines of his body - his waist, his hips - emphasising just how good he looks. There are scars, too - a particularly nasty one on his side that Alistair thinks might have happened when Zevran first attacked Brosca and himself. It’s well healed now but Alistair remembers seeing it pink and raw, the worst of it having been tended to by Wynne but still needing time to heal fully. The thought that Alistair’s own blade might have caused it makes his stomach clench uncomfortably and he wants to kiss it, wants to kiss all of them.

So he does.

He flips Zevran onto his back - or perhaps more accurate to say, Zevran _lets_ him - and then kisses his lips, getting distracted by his warm mouth and eager tongue, by the hands raking through his hair and holding him close. Eventually he recalls his plan and pulls back, kissing first a scar on Zevran’s cheek, then on his lip. Next is a long scar across his chest, then one that looks like a burn over his left ribs.

“I approve of the direction in which you are heading,” Zevran says as Alistair kisses a scar that was perhaps once a stab wound on his belly. Alistair glances up and sees Zevran smirking down at him with his hands behind his head, pillows propped behind him to ensure he gets the best possible view. 

“Is that so?” Alistair asks, and smiles as he slowly tugs open the laces of Zevran’s trews.

“Am I really going to be this lucky? I never imagined taking the virginity of such a sweet innocent Chantry boy.”

”You’re a little late for that.”

“Mmm. So you say.”

“I’d be happy to show you just how experienced I am.”

Zevran chuckles then and reaches down to stroke Alistair’s hair. “I think you might be overselling, no?”

“Just because I was with the same man for two and a half years doesn’t mean I didn’t get a lot of practice, Zev. And he wasn’t the only one.”

“Oh?” Zevran’s eyebrows raise and so do his ears, pricking ever so slightly. “Brosca did not tell me about _that._ Ah - I mean... she didn’t tell me about any of it?” 

Alistair snorts, and moves up to kiss him properly, on the lips, biting the lower one before pulling away. “I _knew_ she must’ve told you. She can’t resist a bit of gossip.”

“It’s true, I’m afraid. She told me about - Denn, was it? And Pyra?" Alistair nods. "No-one else, though."

“I don't tell her _everything,_ Zev. They were my only two serious relationships but I have slept with other people," he says. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I’m not interested in meaningless sex - that much hasn’t changed. But pleasuring friends? That’s different.” 

“Like what we’re doing here?”

“Exactly.”

“Then please, my friend,” Zevran says, with a wave of his hand. “I await the pleasure.”

That sounds like a challenge if ever Alistair has heard one, and it is a challenge he is more than willing to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm sorry (not sorry) for ending it there, but I have a busy few weeks ahead so I decided to update it now (and tease you all :D). I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for commenting, leaving kudos, and especially for spreading the word <3 Your support means a lot!
> 
> Oh and just so know, [this line](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/175452657450/this-is-horrible-but-im-not-sorry) was edited at the very last minute. I'm not sure if I regret it or not. 
> 
> And as ever, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/adelaide_rain) and [tumblr.](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com)


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